


It's Not That Bad, Right?

by TheAsexualofSpades



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Dragon!Merlin, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Merlin is a Little Shit, Protective Kilgharrah (Merlin), Sir Leon the Long Suffering, can be platonic or romantic you decide, that's a tag i thought i'd never use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27679057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Okay, Merlin’s gonna take the blame this time. This one’s on him. Definitely. No two ways about it. He’s big enough to admit he screwed up. He is! This one’s definitely on him. Absolutely not a question about it.In his defense, what was he supposed to do when he saw a sorcerer with a magic circle around a dragon’s egg chanting ominously as a bunch of storm clouds formed overhead, not run into the middle and push it out?Yeah, as if.
Relationships: Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 536





	It's Not That Bad, Right?

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to the nonny on tumblr for this, I have not laughed this hard writing something in a WHILE

**Prompt:** Feel free to write this prompt (or not)- Merlin is cursed and turned into a dragon/wyvern. Arthur commands him to stay in the forest until they figure out how to change him back, but when Merlin senses that Arthur is in danger during a tournament in the City arena, he flies in front of everyone to rescue him, proving how willing he is to protect Arthur even if it means putting his life at the mercy of a shocked Camelot and angry Uther. Also Merlin breaths fire and is BAMF as a dragon.

* * *

Okay, Merlin’s gonna take the blame this time. This one’s on him. Definitely. No two ways about it. He’s big enough to admit he screwed up. He is! This one’s definitely on him. Absolutely not a question about it.

In his defense, what was he supposed to do when he saw a sorcerer with a magic circle around a dragon’s egg chanting ominously as a bunch of storm clouds formed overhead, _not_ run into the middle and push it out?

Yeah, as if.

_“Merlin!”_

Well, it sure hurt like hell, that’s for damn sure. Merlin can feel his teeth chattering against themselves as energy courses through his body, into through his fingertips and out through the top of his head, sending bolts into the ground, through his legs, through his chest. Something reaches deep beneath him and _pulls,_ stretching him like putty. His throat screams in a soundless roar until he registers that, oh wait, that deafening noise is coming from him. Huh.

“M-Merlin?”

Why does Arthur sound unsure? Merlin’s fine. Merlin’s so fine right now. Everything is so fine and good right now, what’s wrong? Merlin turns around to say that, yeah, it’s alright, prat, he’s fine, no need to sound so nervous, only his head seems really really heavy right now and since when has his neck been that long?

“Sire, stay back! I don’t know what’s happened!”

“Stay low to the ground.”

“One of these buggers wasn’t enough, huh?”

Oh, are there more sorcerers? Merlin turns his—why the _hell_ is his head so heavy?—head to look, scanning the trees for more sorcerers.

…that’s funny, why is he suddenly higher? And where are his arms? Or his legs? Or…

… _oh, bollocks._

Merlin sighs, only to realize that hey, you guys remember that dragons can breathe fire, right?

“Get back!” Oh, there’s Leon. Merlin wondered where he got off to. “I don’t know where you come from, beast, but you must leave immediately.”

_“Beast,_ ” Merlin mutters, “how _rude._ ”

It’s worth it for the way Leon’s arm drops dead to his side. The knight’s mouth gapes up at him. “ _Merlin_?”

Merlin’s gotta get used to this freaking head. He looks around at himself, tests his four feet—claws? Paws? He doesn’t know—and flaps his wings experimentally. “Pretty sure. Just, er, a little different?”

“A little different, he says,” Gwaine mutters from Arthur’s other side, “Merlin what the hell have you done now?”

“I _think,”_ Merlin says, testing out the words in his new mouth—so many teeth—“I’ve been turned into a dragon.”

_“Stellar_ observations there.”

“How is this possible,” Lancelot murmurs, the only one of the knights who dares step closer, close enough to rest his hand on Merlin’s flank. Wow, he’s tiny. “Merlin, did—did _you_ do this?”

_“Why_ would I do this?”

“You are dramatic,” Lancelot says, winking up at him.

“Hey!”

“He’s not wrong.”

“Thanks, Gwaine.”

“Alright, alright.” Arthur sways on his feet, looking every bit about to faint, except he grits his teeth and puts his sword decidedly at his side. “Merlin’s a dragon. Sure.”

“In the flesh!”

“I think you mean in the _scale,_ ” Elyan adds helpfully.

Arthur glares at him, only to glance around and see Lancelot happily petting Merlin’s scales, Leon looking him over like he does the new armor, and Gwaine sauntering over to a stump and sitting down. He cocks his head and looks at Merlin, before shrugging and pulling out a waterskin. Even Percival and Elyan look a little nonplussed.

“Are all of you just— _fine_ with this?”

Gwaine shrugs. “Hardly the weirdest thing to ever happen to us, is it?”

_“Merlin is a dragon!”_

“And not too long ago Gaius was possessed by a goblin.”

“Don’t forget the manticore,” Percival supplies.

“Oh,” Lancelot calls, “and the immortal army!”

_“And,”_ Leon says, “let us also not forget, Sire, that Uther once was married to a troll.”

“Wait, he was _what?_ ” Gwaine leaps up indignantly. “Why have you not told us this story?”

_“Enough!”_

Merlin doesn’t sigh, but he does exhale noisily through his nostrils. While Arthur prattles on about respecting the king or some such nonsense that he’s sure only _Leon_ is really listening to—and then it’s only out of politeness and because he’s heard it a thousand times—Merlin fidgets.

Scales itch, did you know that? It feels like he’s wearing scratchy clothes that don’t fit right on his skin. He huffs, trying to keep the smoke to a minimum, scrubbing his legs and arms along the ground to try and get some relief. When it doesn’t work, he flops his head down with a resounding _thump,_ out of the way of any of the knights. Wow, his head is the _size_ of Lancelot.

Lancelot, of course, because this man is the definition of unflappable unless it comes to Gwen, simply smiles and reaches out to gently stroke the ridge between Merlin’s eyes. Merlin rumbles gratefully and nudges Lancelot with the tip of his nose.

“Right there, hmm?” Lancelot pats him a few more times.

“He’s not a horse, Lancelot,” Leon says with a smile.

“No, he’s a dragon.”

_“He_ is sitting right here,” Merlin grumbles, “thank you very much.”

“So you can still talk.” Gwaine downs the waterskin and saunters over. “Can you fly?”

Percival glances at his back. “He’s got wings, doesn’t he?”

“Can we ride him?”

“Gwaine!”

“What? You lot were thinking it too!”

“I’m going mad,” Merlin hears Arthur say faintly, “I’m going mad because my manservant is a dragon and none of my knights seem to care.”

“Oh, we care,” Gwaine says, “this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in a while.”

“Merlin appears to have his wits about him still,” Leon murmurs in an effort to soothe Arthur’s nerves which, honestly, Merlin’s a _dragon,_ so that’s fair, “and I do not believe _Merlin_ is likely to attack us.”

“Merlin trips over his own two feet when he’s only got two and he’s the size of a string bean,” Arthur mutters, not taking his eyes off of him.

“Oi!”

“It’s true and you know it.”

Merlin hides a smile, partly because he doesn’t want Arthur to see he’s happy, and partly because he has no idea what dragon smiles look like. Kilgharrah didn’t really smile. But the banter seems to have calmed Arthur down a little, at least enough to walk up to Merlin and look at him. Properly.

Merlin lifts his head, just so they’re eye level, and waits.

Arthur hesitantly reaches a hand out.

Merlin holds his breath.

Arthur’s hand clenches into a fist and he turns away.

“We’ll have to find a way to fix this,” Arthur mutters, stalking back toward his horse. “Back to Camelot. We speak of this to no one except Gaius.”

“You just want to leave him here?”

“If we brought a dragon back to Camelot, my father would have all of our heads. And Merlin would be killed. Or chained up.” Arthur shakes his head firmly, already back on his horse. “We tell _no one._ ”

“So what do we do then,” Gwaine yells, “just abandon him out here?”

“He’s a dragon,” Arthur says, “I’m sure he can fend for himself.”

Something pinches inside Merlin’s chest as Arthur turns away. He growls, ignoring Lancelot’s concerned look as he straightens, his head turning to look down at his massive chest. It aches, like something in him is reaching for the end of a rubber band that just won’t snap back.

“Merlin?”

“I’m fine,” he manages, testing out his body again. He’s definitely not used to having six limbs, let alone wings. “I’ll figure it out.”

“We will find a way to change you back, old friend,” Leon promises, “you will not be stuck like this forever.”

“Might not be the worst thing in the world to be stuck as.”

“All the same, we will try.”

“Thanks, Leon.”

Leon nods deeply, mounting his horse and setting off after Arthur. The other knights do the same, each bidding Merlin farewell. Lancelot is the last to leave.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to stay?”

As tempting as it is, Merlin shakes his massive head. “You might get hurt. And Camelot might, er—“

“Since when have I listened to Camelot over listening to you?”

In response, Merlin nudges him—gently!—with his nose back over to his horse.

“Alright, alright,” Lancelot laughs, “I’m going.”

Still, Merlin can’t help the dull ache of loneliness from settling in his chest as Lancelot disappears into the trees. He looks around. This clearing is nice. It’s just large enough to fit him comfortably. He can lie down—which he does—and curl up with his tail tucked around his legs. He has a _tail,_ does that mean he has seven limbs now? Does a tail count as a limb?

_Oh,_ the ground feels really nice on his sides. Can he—he can roll to his other side too. Oh yeah, that’s fun.

Merlin spends several minutes just rolling around on the ground, letting his wings splay out a little and flap to the sides, stirring up little storms of dust and dirt. He ends up on his back, his wings splayed out, looking up at the dark sky. His eyes drift closed and he rumbles happily.

He isn’t sure how much time passes but his wings are starting to get a little sore. He grunts and rolls.

…only to rock right back.

He tries again. No luck.

Maybe if he flaps his wings, he can—nope. The other side maybe? Oh, nope. Nope, that’s not it either.

He’s stuck.

How undignified. Good thing there’s no one around to—

“Young warlock?”

“No,” Merlin groans, shutting his eyes and instinctively going to cover his face only to remember that he’s got dragon legs and that’s not going to work. “Go away.”

“No, young warlock,” comes the voice that is _definitely_ laughing at him, “I don’t think I will.”

Merlin opens his eyes. Sure enough, there’s Kilgharrah, who looks _way_ too happy. Merlin gives up and lets his limbs hang uselessly. “I’m stuck.”

“I can see that.”

“…how do I get unstuck?”

“You roll, young warlock.”

“I’ve tried that!”

“Well, then you must not’ve tried hard enough.”

Trying to roll over and failing miserably in front of the Great Dragon is possibly one of the most humiliating things you can do. Especially when you’re exerting yourself because _you’ve never had a dragon body before_ and you’re making all sorts of embarrassing grunts and squeals. Merlin doesn’t recommend it.

Eventually, Merlin stops, panting and looking back at Kilgharrah who looks all too pleased with himself. “Are you just going to stand there?”

“Did you need something?”

“ _Help_ me!”

“All you had to do was ask, young warlock.”

Merlin wisely bites back the many insults on his tongue and rolls again. This time, Kilgharrah sticks his nose under the flap of Merlin’s wing and pushes him over with a graceless _thump._ Merlin shakes himself.

“Thanks.”

“But of course. You know I _live_ to serve you.”

“Have you gotten more sarcastic or have we not spoken in a while?”

“That is an answer you must seek for yourself.”

“You’re still as vague, good, I was beginning to think you were some _other_ dragon.”

“There are no other dragons,” Kilgharrah says softly, suddenly growing serious, “at least…there _were_ no other dragons.”

He inclines his head, moving with a grace that shows unlike Merlin, Kilgharrah understands his body.

“What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin explains.

“That was very brave, young warlock.”

“You can say stupid.”

“That was very stupid, Merlin.”

“Yeah, well.” Merlin kicks a rock next to him. “What else is new?”

“I must say,” Kilgharrah muses, looking him over, “you are not an unhealthy dragon.”

“That is…a compliment? I think?”

“Well, typically when it comes to anamorphic magic, it does not perform…nearly this successfully.” Kilgharrah nudges Merlin’s wing with the tip of his snout. “I suspect it is because you are magic that you have transformed so completely.”

“And also why I’m still able to talk?”

“Precisely.”

“Great.” Merlin snuffles a little. Wow, he can _smell_ a whole lot more. “So how do we fix it?”

“Unfortunately, anamorphic magic is…temperamental.”

“Okay, so _I_ can still speak normally, which means it’s not a dragon thing to speak in vague stupid cryptic sentences. Speak normally.”

“Your tongue is still as sharp as ever.”

“Well, now that I’m not a tiny human anymore—“

“Most humans are tiny.”

“ _Kilgharrah.”_

Kilgharrah sighs. Ooh, he’s gotta show Merlin how to do that so he can still sigh. He misses that. “It will take time. From what you described, the spell was not completed, which means it will only last as long as the magic holds.”

“And how long is that?”

“Perhaps until the next full moon.” That’s only a week and a bit away. That’s not so bad.

“So what do I do until then?”

“You never did learn how to hunt with Arthur, did you?”

If you told Merlin he would be spending a week with Kilgharrah learning how to be a dragon and actually _enjoying_ himself while doing it, he would have laughed, slammed the door in your face, and muttered some spell to make you trip as you walked away.

And yet, here we are.

Merlin _does_ always insist that they stay close to the clearing. If someone comes back, he doesn’t want them to worry. Kilgharrah just shakes his head and tosses him another deer. Merlin can sigh now! That’s nice. His body doesn’t feel so itchy all the time either. His head doesn’t feel like a ridiculous weight anymore. His wings feel right. It’s not bad, this whole being-a-dragon business.

There’s still something wrong though.

That pain he had in his chest when the knights first left hasn’t gone away. It feels like he’s missing something. Sometimes when he lies down he rests his head on the ground too, tries to press his chest to the earth as much as possible. See if there’s something he can slot back into place. Nothing ever works.

Kilgharrah, for once, isn’t being cryptic when he says he genuinely doesn’t know what’s wrong. But he does rest his head on Merlin’s back. That feels nice and warm.

He doesn’t trust himself enough to try and breathe fire.

Two days before the spell is supposed to wear off, the pain spikes. In an instant, Merlin crumbles to the ground and _whines._ It hurts, it hurts, it _hurts._

“Merlin,” Kilgharrah rumbles, at his side in an instant, “Merlin, what is wrong?”

“M-my chest, I can’t, I—it _hurts—“_

“Where is it coming from, young warlock?”

“I just told you—!”

“No,” Kilgharrah says sharply, “ _where?_ ”

Merlin opens his mouth to snap back when he feels a line in his chest yank taut.

Oh.

_Oh._

With two flaps of his wings, Merlin is airborne. The line pulls him over the trees, out of the forest, toward the castle in the distance. _Camelot._

_Arthur._

Of bloody course it’s Arthur. What else could it be? As he flies, Merlin racks his brain trying to think of what’s happening, what could be hurting Arthur, what’s going on—

Right. There’s a bloody tournament going on.

What is it about tournaments that make every single magic-user with a grudge against Uther come out of the woodwork?

…well…

There’s the arena. People are fleeing in droves. Merlin tucks his wings and dives, thankful to the lessons Kilgharrah gave him. He spots Arthur, he spots Uther—

He spots a _wave_ of soldiers in black armor surrounding Arthur on all sides. Their blades gleam in the light. Magic crackles around them. Arthur is bleeding.

_Not on his watch._

Merlin opens his mouth.

A dozen soldiers melt away like dew as he bathes them in fire, the black armor vanishing. Another dozen vanish as torrents of flame spill from his throat, mouth open in a righteous scream. Arthur whirls around to look. His cry of surprise is lost in the roar of the dragon’s wings. Uther’s face is pale. Another jet of fire incinerates the knights as Merlin lands with a _thud_ in front of Arthur.

A knight charges him. Merlin whips his tail around and swipes four of them off their feet. Another one launches a spear at him and lodges itself in his wing. Merlin cries out and lunges forward. The armor tastes salty. The other knight is torched before he has a chance to throw the spear.

At his side, Arthur seems to snap out of his stupor, brandishing his sword and fighting off one of the last remaining knights. Merlin gets his snout underneath another and throws him into the distance. He swings his head around like a hammer and slams two more into the arena wall.

The last one—well, he just screams at the last one.

It seems to do the trick; the armor falls apart in a series of heavy clanks.

Merlin stops, panting heavily. There’s still a spear lodged in his side and it burns. Arthur is safe. That’s all that matters. Arthur is safe.

“…Merlin?”

Merlin turns his head, his head hanging low. Arthur stands there, covered in blood, but _alive,_ and holds out his hand.

Merlin lays his head on the ground and closes his eyes.

Arthur reaches out.

A soft glove lands on Merlin’s cheek. Rubs his scales softy. Merlin _purrs._

“Hello, Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, too quiet for anyone else to hear, “welcome back.”

“Kill it!”

Ah, yes, right. Uther.

“No!”

Arthur’s cry forces Merlin’s eyes open, spotting Gwaine, Lancelot, Leon, Percival, Elyan, all writing spears and javelins away from other knights. A sharp pain comes from his side and he turns to see Arthur trying to pull the spear out. He has to brace his foot against Merlin’s side to get out. Arthur tosses it away and holds his hand over the wound. Thankfully it seems like it just lodged in between two scales, Merlin’s not bleeding too much.

“Father,” Arthur pants, “Father we can’t kill it.”

“It’s a dragon, Arthur!”

“And it just saved our lives!”

“It’s nothing but a beast,” Uther snarls, seemingly regaining some of his composure as he spews his hateful speech from his comfortable box, “mindless and hungry. It will kill us all!”

“Does it _look_ like it’s about to kill us?”

_No, no it most certainly does not, thank you very much._

Arthur glances between the two of them, before leaning in close to Merlin.

“Fly back to the clearing, we’ll meet you there.”

Merlin turns his head. Arthur stares at him insistently.

“ _Go!_ ”

He takes off, hearing Arthur’s long, fake cries about how they will chase after him, slay him, for the good of Camelot. He smiles and lands in the clearing. Kilgharrah is gone. Well, that’s kind of to be expected, isn’t it? He thinks a message of gratitude, hoping it will reach him, wherever he is. He doesn’t get a verbal reply, but a warm spark of magic spreads over his damaged scales and he smiles.

Sure enough, the knights crash through the brush a few moments later, Arthur scrambling off his horse and up to Merlin.

“You,” he says, grinning breathlessly, “are an _idiot._ ”

“Idiot _dragon,_ ” Merlin corrects, “who just saved your arse.”

“That was so _cool,”_ Gwaine crows, “you—“

“Yes, yes,” Percival mutters, “you’ve been saying that since we left.”

“They’re a bit excited, Merlin,” Lancelot chuckles, “forgive them.”

“…it _is_ pretty cool,” Merlin admits.

“Are you hurt?” Arthur glances over at his side. “You were hit.”

“I think it’s healed up pretty well.”

“We, er, weren’t able to find a way to fix you.”

“I think it’ll wear off by the next full moon.”

“How would you know?”

Merlin gives Arthur a look that’s _definitely_ just a rip off of Kilgharrah’s. “I know many things, young king.”

“You stop that right now.”

“So,” Elyan muses, “two days?”

Merlin nods.

“Camping trip, boys!”

Gwaine’s holler makes the rest of them laugh and they quickly go about setting up camp. Merlin bows his head to carefully light the fire as the knights make themselves comfortable. It’s not so bad, actually, out here in the clearing with them. Arthur leaning up against his chest, Lancelot by his side. Leon tosses him a large chunk of meat as Percival watches. Elyan double-checks his side and pronounces him all clear.

Yeah. Being a dragon isn’t so bad.

“I get a ride before you turn back, right?”

“Gwaine!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr:
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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